I remember the phone call to my mother two days ago before I left New York.
“Mom, how old are you when you stop having crushes on people?” I asked during one of our FaceTime chats
“Um, never,” she said while Cooper came in the room, opening the fridge. “You always get crushes on people.” The fridge door slammed shut.
“What the fuck does that mean?” He came up to the phone. “Hey, honey.”
“Hi, Dad.” I smiled seeing the look he was giving my mother.
“It means that just because you’re with someone or not doesn’t mean you stop crushing on people.” She turned to him.
“You have a crush on someone, Parker?” He slammed down the water bottle he had in his hand. “Seriously, who the fuck do you have a crush on?”
I laughed because the world could come to a stop and mass-produce only men and my mother would still look for Cooper.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m saying that you never stop feeling things and a crush is a feeling.”
“Okay, so who do you have a crush on?” he asked again as he folded his hands over his chest. “Tell me!”
“Oh, Jesus, okay, Anderson Cooper.” She threw her hand up, just throwing out a name, and Cooper laughed at her.
“He’s gay!”
“I have a huge crush on John Snow,” I told them, “like I would so have his babies.” And apparently that wasn’t something you should tell your father.
“Allison fucking Grant, do not talk like that. Where are you? Are you at the rink? Guys hear that and they pounce on women. Is your brother there? Where is your brother?”
“Simmer down there, Pops. No one is fertilizing me any time soon.” And that made him throw his head back and groan out while my mother giggled.
“Jesus, these girls are going to give me a heart attack and then they will have a gay stepfather.”
We all laughed, but the answer was right there. You never stop crushing on someone, so it was a crush and it would go away.
I get up from the seat without answering him and I’m yanked back down.
“Where are you going?” he asks me.
“I’m not going to sit here while you make fun of me and not tell me what is going to happen.” I look at him. “Tell me what happens. Does her hot husband die? I think he dies. He’s so hot.”
“He’s not that hot,” he says as the fasten seat belt sign turns on, so I fasten my seat belt and then we are on the ground.
I wait for everyone to get off before I get up and walk down the aisle of the empty plane now with no one behind me but Max. I reach up and start tugging my bag when he hovers over me, reaching over me, and grabbing my bag. His chest is to my back and my heart goes out of control.
“Thanks,” I say, looking down and walking down the steps. I fuss with my phone while I walk to the cars.
“You coming with me?” he asks as he walks beside me.
“I could get an Uber in seventeen minutes,” I tell him as soon as I open the app.
“Seventeen minutes I could be home after dropping you off,” he says, unlocking his car door.
“You’re the bestest, Mad Max,” I say, laughing at him as he groans.
He drops me off and waits for me to go in before driving off. I don’t bother turning on the lights. Instead, I just walk upstairs and undress, slipping under my covers. My dreams are all of dragons and I text him that the next day.
I think I’m a dragon lady. I’m Daenerys.
He doesn’t answer me and I think that he might be sleeping or even at the gym. I open my computer and start doing my work for the gala that is coming up. So far we are looking at a thousand people attending. It seems that if Doug invites you somewhere, you go.
I finalize all the details with the venue and make appointments with the planner. I look at my phone and see that it’s almost six. Where the fuck is Max? Should I call him? No, I tell myself, put down the phone. And I start making a little supper, but give up a minute later and order myself something.
I’m curled up on the couch watching another episode of Game of Thrones when my phone finally rings and I see it’s Denise.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?” she yells her question, so I pause the television.
“I’m home.”
“Come meet me for some pool. Steve is here also.”
I haven’t been out in forever since all my college friends all moved away.
“Sure,” I say, getting up as she gives me the address. I get my leather tights out, pairing them with a V-necked loose wrap shirt. I put a black lace bra under in case it opens when I move, pairing it with a black blazer and my black high-heeled booties. I slap on some lipstick and run out just as my Uber is here. I text Denise that I’m on my way and she tells me she’s in the back as we pull up to the little shack of a bar.